


Hands

by breakfastforbeginners



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Fluff, Nineteen Eighty-Four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakfastforbeginners/pseuds/breakfastforbeginners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt fic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> what--larks asked: Could I prompt Alicia/Finn - hands?

_**Hands** _

 

When he takes her hand and tugs her ring off, it’s a promise. Finn tucks the warm metal in the pocket of his jeans and they go back to watching the movie.

Later on, when Julia is found in bed with Winston she finds Finn’s hand on her thigh. He isn’t watching her, he’s watching the Thought Police but Alicia weaves her fingers through his and rests her head against his shoulder. Her finger rests just over the shape of his scar. Sometimes she wonders if he’s lucky that he has the use of his hand at all. Other times (most times) she wonders why that luck wasn’t Will’s.

They never watch any crime shows, and it bothers her that she doesn’t notice it for two months, not until Grace is sitting in the living room watching Law and Order with Zach who’s home for two days over the fall break.

When John Hurt gets locked up for re-education she wonders if this counts.

“Sometimes I don’t know what I’m doing in law anymore,” Alicia blurts out. “I don’t know… everything changed after –“ She can’t say it but Finn squeezes her hand and just knows. “It used to be so clear to me. I just feel like I’ve lost focus.”

It’s so damn easy to talk to him. She should feel red-faced and anxious to leave at this point – hell, guilty for using him as a literal and metaphorical shoulder – but the thing about Finn is that he never pushes for more until she leads him down that path first. Some semblance of control is what makes this safe for her.

“I don’t think the rules apply anymore.”

Alicia looks up but he’s staring at their hands. His long thumb strokes the soft skin between her thumb and finger. Peter has paws, but those were the hands to take hers in marriage. Will’s had her heart, even when she hadn’t realised it had gone missing for so long and sometimes Alicia worries he was buried with it. Maybe it was her soul, if there was such a thing. Finn squeezes her hand again and the spell of her despairing musings breaks.

“So why State’s Attorney?”

Alicia shrugs, trying on a smile to mask the sudden emptiness she feels. “You know, now I’m not so sure.”

Finn nudges her shoulder and a gasp of air escapes her in an attempted laugh. Alicia smiles though and uses her free hand to wipe away the two or three tears betraying her.

“I’m sorry,” And she isn’t sure why she’s apologising. It’s the guilt. It’s habit. Finn drops her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulder, tucking Alicia against his side. He’s so much warmer than he looks and she relaxes, dropping her head against his shoulder and her hand on his thigh. She feels stupid.

“You never have to apologise to me,” His lips are in her hair. She doesn’t know whether to believe him or not because she’s had to apologise to every man she’s loved before.

She has no idea what’s going on in the film anymore, his hand is drawing patterns on her shoulder, over the sleeve of her turtleneck. He’d laughed at the sight of her in it when she came in earlier. That was until she showed him the marks he’d left behind the night before and they fucked, laughing against his kitchen countertop.

“Alicia, the law’s always going to be there. You can do whatever you want; screw the rest.”

But that isn’t strictly true. She has Grace to look after, she has bills to pay. She has to play the wife for Peter if he wants to keep his position. She has to take that worm Castro down.

“No.” Alicia sits up and Finn’s arm sticks to the leather couch. He’s watching her carefully and she realises he’s known her reasons the whole time. “I can’t let Castro take office again. Not after… I can’t. He’s corrupt, Finn. It’s political for him.”

Finn shrugs but a small smile is creeping across his face. “You know I would love to see you in that office.” He looks proud, the sly dog. She shoves him with a grin until he catches her hands and brings her close for a kiss.

“We all feel that way sometimes.” Miraculously it sounds more like a confession than condescension and Alicia appreciates it. Appreciates him. “The trick,” Finn tucks a strand of her thick, dark hair behind her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek, “is to find something to fight for. I think you have that. I don’t think anyone could accuse you of not caring.”

That was true enough. She was willing to sort through her skeletons, have her face in campaign advertisements and staged interviews, her private life laid out under the microscope all over again. But this time, it was under her say-so.

Alicia smiles.

“Thank you, Finn,” She finds his hand and squeezes before picking up their plates (they had steak for a change) and the knives and forks clatter together as she makes her way around the couch into the kitchen.

Alicia dumps the mess in the sink and stares hard at her hands, gripping the metal basic with white knuckles. Her finger looks right without her ring, she thinks, but something inside her mourns. It’s not for Peter or her marriage, Alicia realises. Finn comes up behind her as he places two wine glasses on their side over the plates before snaking a tentative arm around her waist. She knows it’s because she’ll have to put her ring back on and continue this charade. And maybe that bothers her more than her apathy for the law.

Her hands grip Finn’s arm against her.

His lips press against her ear, “I’m on your side Alicia.” She closes her eyes, because  _that’s_  a promise. He kisses her neck and her hips are against the kitchen bench again. His hands are all she can feel.

 


End file.
